Down South: Day Three

 Day three started early. Lafayette Cemetery opened at 8:00 AM and I wanted to avoid the heat of the noon day sun walking back. A quick bite to eat, along with a cup of coffee, and I was down the street. I felt compelled to start on Bourbon Street this morning. I wanted to see if the devastation lived up to my imagination of the morning after. Unfortunately, it was everything I thought it would be. The smell of vomit is what hits you first, rotting from the night before, the stench that this created was putrid. This foulness combined with human waste and a dash of urine. The combination was one of the worst things my olfactory glands had ever partaken. It took several minutes to purge my nostrils after exiting the area. The streets were littered with refuse from the carelessness of the night before. People still staggering in their shamefulness, trying to find their way back to the seclusion of their hotel rooms. Then there were the homeless alcoholics. Emptying various liquor containers left by others into containers so that they could reap the rewards of other's leftovers. Needless to say, I did not walk the length of the street, cutting across one of the avenues back to Decatur.    

           I crossed over Canal Street and proceeded down Saint Charles. Speaking to several people along the way and stopping to take in my surrounding. This area was populated with newer structures, choking the life and beauty from the old ones that were left standing. Progress is inevitable, and this area was a living testament to that. Coming to the end of Saint Charles, there was a roundabout which signified the halfway point of my journey. This way point also meant I was entering the Garden District. Of the areas and suburbs I have seen this year, this was my favorite. Each structure had its soul shrouded in a lushness I have never witnessed. If not for the humidity and the sub sea level elevation, I would be tempted to relocate. Making my way through this area, I had a better sense of what New Orleans was, what she was meant to be. It wasn’t long before I came to my turn and found myself at the opening of the cemetery. Time for a drink of water and a quick rest.

           Lafayette Cemetery was not as old at The Saint Louis Cemeteries I had seen the day prior. Its condition was reflective of its youth, and this term is relative. The grounds were lush and well-manicured, and there was a deeper sense of life more so than death. I spent a bit of time just wandering about. I was more intrigued by the structures and formations than I was about the potential for photographs. For those of you who are photographers, you will understand when I say the images felt wrong here. There were only two that I took the time compose and commemorate. I am happy with both. Feeling my moment had passed, I took another break to drink some water and speak to the man stationed out front. He was pedaling cold water for a dollar. I gave him two for his time and effort in engaging me in pleasant conversation before I shoved off again in a forward manner. Small breaks and plenty of cool liquids were the keys to my sustained days. 

           Here is where things became interesting. Making my way toward Magazine Street, I stumbled upon a gallery filled with amazing black and white prints. I went inside to investigate the images further and to my luck and surprise, the owner, who is also the photographer, was present and came out to greet me, David G. Spielman, native to New Orleans, photojournalist and Leica shooter. For the next hour, I was humbled to hear him speak about photography, his work and what it meant to him. Louisiana does not have a Leica Gallery within her borders but this, this was just as good if not a smidge better. It’s not often I have the chance to engage other photographers, let alone other photojournalists verbally. Times like this leave me inspired and instill the sense that I have chosen the right path for me. I thanked David for his time, his willingness to let me take an image, for signing my book, and his overall hospitality and wisdom. It was time for me to move on.

  Magazine Street was lack luster and resembled hipster heaven too much for my taste. Though I remember the person suggesting I walk this street said, “It’s where the young kids hang out." Well, I generally can't stand the youth of today, so this was ultimately a bust. I did, however, have a delicious turkey club sandwich on sourdough that hit the spot and gave me the boost I needed for the three-mile hike back to echo base. The walk back was not without its merits. Being able to see another portion of this enigmatic town helped me to see her truest self. As I approached Street once again, the sleepiness of the outskirts gave way to the towering hotels and business plazas. The crowds began to swell and the roar of commerce overabundant once more. Pretty much dogged, I arrived back at my hotel. I had walked several miles at this point, and I needed a shower, change of clothes and a moment to cool down. My mindset was to hit another portion north of Canal street and then work my way down Burgundy Street to the back side of the Quarter before dinner and nightly grind.

           Feeling refreshed and ready to rock, I headed to Lafayette Square Conservancy. This little slice of greenery and trees was nestled in between the older building of this area and the newer federal buildings that stood stark and boding. It wasn't what I had hoped it would be when I saw it earlier on the map. I may have been there too soon or too late depending on your frame of thought and reference. Regardless, I had to potty at this point. I learned the day before that bathrooms, though in abundance, are reserved for paying customers only. I had to think and think quickly. The Marriott Courtyard was nearby, and if my plan worked, I'd have a clean and refreshing area to settle up with my bodily functions. As I walked through the doors, I waved at the kids behind the front desk and said, “How are you guys doing today?”. "Great, how are you, sir?". "I have no complaints, just taking a quick break.". "Enjoy the rest of your day sir.". Thank you ! You as well!". Yep, you act as you belong and you belong. I would now take my time to relax, freshen up, and enjoy some of their tasty treats they had in the lobby for guests. I would pull this stunt several more times before my trip was over.

           My hunch was correct when it came to taking Burgundy Street. I was able to see a sleepy side of the Quarter and chat with street performers and boxcar travelers that were merely passing through. This stretch is where I was given a hot tip about Frenchman Street. This area, according to the people I spoke with, was what Bourbon Street used to be. I wasted no time in locating Frenchman in relation to my current position. Frenchman has to sections; the first portion filled with shops and tourist, this place was not where I wanted to be. If you're brave enough to push passed this area, you will arrive at the second section. It was just about everything that had been described. It was here that I met a poet, a circus clown, a magician, and a writer, who was also a photographer. I spent the bulk of my evening here, speaking to each person individually, listening to their stories intently, at a pace they were comfortable telling them. I am always amazed how much a stranger is willing to divulge. Never let someone say that respect for another will get you nowhere.

 Most of my night was burnt after my final conversation, and I wanted to get some rest. I had aspirations of an early morning shoot, to capture some of that golden dawn light as it danced off the building that surrounded me. I knew I would return to see what was left to discover here, so I was not troubled by the fact I had to depart. I traveled down Frenchman in the direction of my hotel. Consequently, Frenchman turns into Decatur at Saint Ann, just in case you find yourself in New Orleans one day, you’re in the know. There was no shortage of people to chat with on my return journey. Each one with something to say and more to the point, something to ask for. It was now 11:00 PM and I had finally made it back. I expedited my nightly ritual of a stretch, shower, and relax ation. I needed to get some sleep. Saturday approached, and according to everyone, the area would come to life. What that meant exactly I did not know. I would find out though in five and half hours.